


What Are All These Kissings Worth?

by wendymr



Series: Beg Forgiveness, Not Permission [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>James is considering leaving the police - and he didn't tell him?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are All These Kissings Worth?

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks, as always, to Lindenharp for BRing and brainstorming.

Robbie’s reeling inside as they continue to search the bishop’s room. James is considering leaving the police? And he didn’t _tell_ him?

Oh, sure, he dismissed it in the next breath – _what else would I do?_ – but his expression said otherwise. He’s thinking about it, all right. And other than that little dig today, he never said a word.

They’re supposed to be partners. Mates, too. They went to Cambridge together on their last free weekend. He was going to take James to see Newcastle. And here James is planning to walk away from their partnership, without even a word!

But that’s not fair, he reminds himself. It’s not as if James is the only one contemplating resigning, is he? He didn’t exactly tell James he was thinking about early retirement before today, and he’s not told him Lyn’s news either.

That’s because he knew it wouldn’t be an easy conversation, didn’t he? James would take it badly – that’s what he’s been afraid of. Now it looks like he didn’t need to worry at all, because they both might be going. And James seemed fine with the fact that he’s thinking about retiring. 

So that’s all right, then, isn’t it?

Course it is. Except for the fact that he can’t shift the churning in his gut.

 

***

Something is making James restless. The bloke’s not said anything, and Robbie can’t put his finger on exactly what’s making him think that, but he knows James far too well not to spot it. What he’s not completely sure about is whether it’s personal or professional.

 _Is_ it the job? Is James still thinking about applying for redundancy? Robbie’s gut is saying that it is. There’s a kind of... James himself would call it _ennui_ , Robbie suspects, a sort of weary fed-up-ness about him when they’re on the job together. Oh, he’s as effective as ever, but it feels as if he’s not one hundred percent _there_. and every once in a while he says something that’s out of character for him, but that suggests he’s having serious doubts about his choice of career.

Is James bored because he feels stuck, in a rut? He has been a sergeant for nigh on seven years now, and he’s supposed to be fast-track, isn’t he? One of those graduate entrants from the early 2000s who were supposed to shoot up the ranks – like that Fiona McKendrick, who’ll no doubt make Detective Chief Inspector before she’s forty. James must be wondering why he hasn’t made it to Inspector – though there’s been nothing stopping him asking about OSPRE, and if he’d even so much as hinted at promotion in his performance reviews Robbie would have brought it up with Innocent and got him the study materials.

Which is it? 

And why won’t James just _talk_ to him?

 

***

“I think I’ve just been offered a job.”

It’s two days later, and Robbie’s just met up with his sergeant at the end of New College Lane after he and Laura went through Swain’s post-mortem result. He was expecting to get an update on whatever James has discovered, but instead he’s now staring at his sergeant, gobsmacked.

He snaps his mouth shut. “You already have a job.” The words are almost growled.

“I’m aware of that, sir. I didn’t precisely hand Professor Pinnock my CV.”

Robbie takes a deep breath. Getting angry isn’t the most effective way to handle this situation. It’ll only get James’s back up and push him towards accepting this offer, whatever it is. “What did she offer you?” he asks, this time managing to keep his voice calm.

James’s gaze is fixed on the road ahead of them. “A junior research fellowship in theology at St Gerard’s.”

A bloody lead weight’s taking up residence in Robbie’s stomach, which he knows damn well is completely unfair. After all, he’s leaning heavily towards that early retirement package. Even asked Lyn’s partner to take a look at the terms. 

“You’d be good at that,” he makes himself say, and even tries to sound encouraging about it. Truth is, James would be better than good. The job’s tailor-made for his cleverclogs friend, who still loves theology even if he no longer wants to be a priest. And James did make a point of saying he likes that bloody friars’ college, didn’t he? He’d be in his element.

He glances at James, just in time to see a tic in his sergeant’s jaw. “I’m glad you think so, sir.”

He has absolutely no idea what to say to that, to the distant tone as much as James’s words. It’s probably just as well his phone chooses that moment to ring.

 

***

Why does James want to leave the force? 

It’s not just the research job – he was already considering that voluntary redundancy scheme before he even met Professor Pinnock. So what’s got into him? He was happy, Robbie thought – with the job, with working together, with the time they spent together off-duty. So why this all of a sudden? And why did he never say a word?

He is thinking about the job offer – that brief exchange with Professor Pinnock at the wedding made that clear. 

It’s distracting Robbie so much that it’s almost a relief when Innocent tells them the truth about Caroline Hope, a story so shocking that it drives most of his personal concerns from his mind, at least temporarily. Or so he thinks, until he snaps at Innocent and as good as tells her that he’s considering leaving the force.

And it isn’t the case, or the bloody funding cuts, that’s got him so on edge, no matter what he wants to pretend.

 

***

It’s Laura who, unknowingly, reminds him again that it’s hardly fair to criticise James for not telling him things if he’s not yet told James why he’s looking into early retirement. 

He’s not even sure why he hasn’t told the bloke. It’s not like it’s a huge secret, or anything to be ashamed of. It’s completely opposite. From the moment Lyn told him, part of him’s wanted to shout it from the rooftops – though that’s the part of him that’s not mourning the fact that Val isn’t here to share the joy of impending grandparenthood with him.

Like ripping off a plaster, it’s best done quickly, and he finally gets to the point as they’re walking away from Mrs Gough’s rooms. James seems genuinely happy about the baby on the way, but then frowns, as if deep in thought, as Robbie explains what all of that has to do with his thoughts of retirement. 

He means it, though: he really isn’t certain himself. There are times, like the other day at the station, when he’d like nothing better than to pack it all in. The thought of just walking away, a full pension in his pocket, and having the freedom to spend as much time with Lyn and his grandkid as he wants... it’s very tempting. But then at other times, like today when the two of them were out at Blackmore’s farm and joking about apostrophes, he wonders why he’d want to leave, and what on earth he’d do with himself all day.

James is silent at first as they resume walking back to the car, and it’s clear that he’s not particularly happy to have confirmation that his governor’s still seriously considering retirement – though he’s not surprised either. But then, as they’re about to get into the car, James abruptly turns to face him.

“Grandpa Lewis!” 

Robbie winces. “You can lay off that for a start, Hathaway.”

“No, no.” James smiles, and it’s a fond smile rather than a mocking smirk. “This kind of news needs celebrating. I’m taking you for a pint tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer. The Trout, as soon as we’ve knocked off, all right?”

He can’t help smiling in return. “All right. Thanks, James.” 

It feels good that James is happy for him – or at least saying that he is. And maybe this’ll be his chance to get to the bottom of why the lad seems fed up with the job himself. They’ll wet the baby’s head, and put the world to rights over a pint as usual.

 

***

James sets two pints down on the outside table, then swings his long legs over the bench seat and sits. He holds up his pint in a toast. “To Granddad, and to the good health of Baby Lewis–” He frowns, looking suddenly uncertain. “I just realised I don’t know anything about your daughter’s partner, or whether the baby will be a Lewis or...” He shrugs, questioning.

Robbie taps his glass to James’s. “I’m not sure if they’ve decided that yet. Lyn’s partner’s called Tim. Tim Braden. He’s the reason they’re in Manchester. He was a physio – they met while they were both training. He got a job in Manchester an’ she followed him up there. A couple of years ago, he had a work injury and couldn’t do physiotherapy any more, so he got qualified as a financial advisor instead. Does pretty well at it.” He takes another drink. “They’ve been together close to seven years now, but I’ve got no idea whether they’ll get married – seem happy enough as they are. With a baby on the way, though, who knows?”

“Baby Braden, then, perhaps. Or Braden-Lewis? Lewis-Braden, as an alternative.” James appears to be considering all the options with the utmost seriousness, studying the curl of smoke he’s just exhaled as if it holds the answers to his musings. “Whatever they choose, I hope Lewis is in there somewhere. Perhaps as a first name? There are excellent precedents, sir. Lewis–” 

“Carroll, yeah, I do know,” Robbie says, giving James a mock-exasperated look. “As if I could’ve lived thirty years in Oxford without having heard of _him_.”

“Not just him, si–” James smiles wryly as Robbie frowns at him. “Robbie, then. There’s Lewis Mumford, for example. Famous American historian and writer, among other things.”

Robbie snorts in disgust. “Name my grandkid after an American, would you? Next thing you know, he’ll be pronouncing words all wrong an’ chucking decent tea away.”

“The far greater sin is vowel abuse,” James asserts, looking about as irritated as he had when faced with the apostrophes on that farmyard sign near Blackmore’s house. “The U is a perfectly serviceable letter and does not deserve to be discarded.”

“But without Americans you wouldn’t have that website you’re always ordering stuff from, would you?” Robbie points out. “What’s it called? Amazon, right?”

He’s scored a hit; James flips a gesture at him before getting up to go to the bar for another round. Robbie doesn’t bother hiding his satisfied smirk.

When James gets back, he’s barely sat down again when he says, “So you’ll be moving up north if you take early retirement?” His tone’s grumpy, almost sulky. Ah. This was the kind of reaction Robbie was expecting earlier; he knows James likes working with him and, if that day out in Cambridge is any guide, he likes his company off-duty too. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” he says, taking a drink. “No, I mean it, I haven’t,” he adds as James gives him a sceptical look. “It’s just not an opportunity I can ignore, is it? The early retirement package is a good deal – I could go now with me full pension, exactly what I’d get in four years’ time. An’ I told you about me dad. I can’t ignore that kind of history.”

James’s lips are thin. “I would hazard a guess that your father’s lifestyle contributed to his early death. Too many fry-ups, not enough exercise – and might he perhaps have been a smoker as well?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You can talk.” Robbie waves a hand in the direction of the cigarette James has just lit. 

“I eat healthily most of the time, and I exercise. As do you – well, you could cut down on the fish and chips, but in general you’ve got the constitution of a man ten years younger. Your heart’s in fine condition – I know because I’ve never seen you puffing after we’ve had to run after a fleeing villain,” he adds as Robbie tries to interject. “I’m quite sure your lungs are in better condition than mine. How’s your cholesterol?”

“Entirely my own business, thank you very much,” Robbie says – though James is right. It’s fine. Slightly on the high side of normal, but nothing to worry about, his doctor says, though it wouldn’t hurt him to cut down on the fried food. James is right about that too.

“I am right, though,” James says, and Robbie’d call him a mind-reader except he knows his partner’s just bloody intelligent. “You’re not like your father.”

“And according to the wisdom of Sergeant Hathaway, that means I don’t need to retire, is that it?” He can’t help the edge to his voice, even if he’s still completely undecided himself. “Anyway, you can talk. You’re the one with a job offer on the table. Are you gonna take it?”

James exhales long and hard. “I honestly don’t know.”

 

***

By mutual agreement, all talk of early retirement and junior research fellowships is dropped, and they’re back to their usual good-natured mutual mockery by the time Robbie calls it a night. 

“Absolutely,” James says smoothly, getting to his feet the moment Robbie says he needs to get home. “I couldn’t possibly deprive a man of your advanced years of his full eight hours’ sleep. Perhaps a Zimmer frame might be in order as a Christmas present?”

“Cheeky sod.” Robbie gives James a sharp nudge as they walk together towards the car park. “Just you wait. I’ll get me revenge when you’re least expecting it.”

“I shall look forward to it with eager anticipation.” James isn’t even trying to hide his smirk.

“There was a time,” Robbie says, shaking his head, “when junior officers would at least try to show some respect to their betters.”

“And I would have to point out, _sir_ ,” James replies, lips twitching faintly, “that I show you respect on a daily basis, including by respecting your wishes.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

Robbie realises his mistake immediately as James stops and turns to face him. “Yes, indeed,” he murmurs. “After all, you’ve still not told me I’m not to do it again–” 

His sergeant’s lips cover his in a firm kiss, one that lingers a little longer than the previous two. Because of that, Robbie’s actually starting to kiss James back before he realises and stops himself – but James has already pulled away and is jogging to his car, hand raised in a casual farewell.

 _Bloody_ cheeky sod. The joke’s getting too damn old now, and he’ll sodding well tell Hathaway that at the earliest possible opportunity. 

 

***

The murderer’s caught in the act, the final victim saved – and that was a weird one and no mistake. How the hell did Sansome think he’d have got away with pretending Caroline Hope committed suicide when he’d tied ropes around her and taped her mouth? Of course he’d have taken them off once she was dead, but signs would’ve shown up immediately on the PM, even assuming he and Hathaway hadn’t noticed the bruises and residue. Her hands and wrists would have shown bruises as well, from where Sansome tried to force her to stab herself. 

They always think they’re so clever. They _always_ make mistakes. Just as well for those on the side of law and order that they do, really.

They’re having a drink together again, him and James, at the White Horse this time – oddly enough, he realises, at the same table where he and Morse had their last drink together more than ten years ago. It was sunset then, too, which is probably why he’s remembering that now. Did Morse know at the time that it would be their last?

He stills as the possibility strikes him that this could be his and James’s last drink as well, or one of the final few. If he takes the retirement deal, or if James says yes to Professor Pinnock...

As if James has read his mind again, he speaks, sounding as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “This... change of direction – opportunity for me with Professor Pinnock... It depends on whether you take early retirement.”

James’s statement is more of a shock than it should be. After all, it makes perfect sense. If he goes, there’s a potential promotion for James, always assuming Innocent fills the position. And how can he, of all people, hold James’s ambition against him? Didn’t he resent Morse in the last couple of years of the man’s life for clinging on to his job rather than stepping down and making way for younger officers like him?

It’s hardly fair to blame James for wanting exactly the same thing he had back when he was the one who’d been a sergeant too long. It’s just that – well, they’re mates, aren’t they? And he’d thought James likes working with him as much as he enjoys working with James. He’d almost decided that he wouldn’t take retirement after all, and – not that he’ll tell the lad – James was a large part of that decision.

He takes a long drink of his pint, then schools his expression and his tone, playing the reasonable governor giving advice to his bagman as he explains that James shouldn’t bank on there being a position. “Still, you stay if I go, fair enough.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” James is looking straight at him, frowning slightly, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “What I’m saying is: if you go, I go.”

Robbie’s hand stills on his pint-glass. This puts a completely different complexion on things. 

James’s tone becomes self-deprecating. “Who else would... understand me?”

Well, that’s true – square peg in a round hole, for the most part, his awkward sod is. No, that’s not fair. That doesn’t come anywhere even close to describing James, the near-genius in an environment where cleverness and knowledge are treated with suspicion, and his lack of ease around other people is interpreted as aloofness, even snobbishness. James is right: he’s probably never been understood in all his time in the force. Even Innocent’s not managed it. He himself has come the closest, yet there are things he knows he doesn’t get about James.

Though he does know James well enough to know that the fact that the lad’s actually saying this to him is tantamount to a declaration...

_Oh._

Robbie turns away, staring across the river, and makes an inane comment about the sunset. Buying himself time to think about this – and to allow James himself to regroup. Yes, he probably does understand the lad better than anyone.

Another beer, he thinks, and then... “Fancy a takeaway back at my place after?”

 

***

Robbie waits until the foil containers are almost empty before broaching the subject again. “Reckon it’s time we talked about it properly, eh?”

James focuses his attention on spearing a last piece of beef in ginger. “About what?”

Robbie resists the urge to roll his eyes. “About one or other of us leaving the force.”

This time, James meets his gaze, and his expression’s resigned. “What is there to talk about? Financially, it makes perfect sense for you to take the offer.”

“It’s not all about money, though, is it?” He stands, reaches for another two bottles of beer, then leads the way to the couch.

James follows, bottle-opener in hand. As he levers the caps off, he says, “No, I know. It’s about being near Lyn and your grandchild. I can understand that.”

“You’ve not said what you think, though,” Robbie says, keeping his voice light. “Well, apart from tellin’ me to eat more healthily.” He gestures towards the remains of their meal. “Not that you encouraged me tonight, I could point out.”

James stills, and it’s a few moments before he speaks, his tone quiet. He’s clearly making considerable effort to keep his tone even, to hide any trace of emotion. “Of course I don’t want you to retire, or to move up north. But I don’t have any right to a say in the matter, do I? It’s your decision. The only people whose opinions might count with you are your daughter and Dr Hobson, not me.”

Robbie shakes his head immediately. “Don’t talk nonsense! Of course your opinion counts. You’re me mate as well as being me partner, aren’t you? If you don’t want me to retire, of course I’ll take that into consideration.” And James’s words, together with his own earlier realisation that he doesn’t want to walk away from the extraordinary and so very rewarding working relationship he has with James, have made his mind up. He’s going nowhere. He’s not telling James that yet, though. “But right now I’m more concerned about something else.”

“What’s that?”

“ _If you go, I go? Who else would understand me?_ ” he quotes back at James. There’s more he could say, too: everything James did for him when he was a potential murder suspect, putting his own career at risk for him. 

James looks away, an embarrassed flush staining his pale skin. “You can’t have failed to notice how utterly unlike anyone else in the force I am.”

He’s got an easy answer for that one. “Only ‘cause Morse isn’t around any more. You an’ him, like two peas in a pod sometimes, you are.” Though it’s true that he was about the only person who understood Morse as well.

James doesn’t comment. He holds his beer to his mouth, but his movements are jerky and it’s obvious that he isn’t actually drinking.

Best just to rip the plaster off and be done with it. Robbie takes a deep breath. “All those kisses over the last few weeks – an’ now this. Do you...” He falters, completely at a loss as to how to ask what’s on his mind. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself completely if he’s wrong – or humiliate James if he’s right. “Do you have some sort of... I dunno, crush on me?”

Crap choice of words. He knows it even before he’s finished speaking. And James glowers. “Oh, please. I’m not a twelve-year-old.”

“I know.” Robbie sighs, giving James an apologetic grimace. “Didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

Even as recently as a few months ago, James would have stiffly changed the subject at this point, the keep-out message sent loud and clear. It’s a testament to how much closer they’ve become – and how much James now trusts him – that he doesn’t do that now.

Instead, he picks at the label on his bottle for several moments without speaking or looking at Robbie. Finally, he says, tone artificially calm, “It’s nothing you need worry about, sir.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Robbie retorts. “And don’t call me sir. Anyway,” he adds, before James can say anything even more ridiculous, “I’m not worried – unless you count bein’ worried about you. I’m surprised – well, more than surprised,” he admits. “Doesn’t make sense that anyone’d feel that way about me, least of all you. But I’m not offended or shocked or anythin’ else that overactive brain of yours might come up with.”

James says nothing, and his hands are now twisting in his lap, the beer-bottle in serious danger of being spilled. Shit. This needs far more careful handling than Robbie feels himself capable of.

It’s a long time since he’s been in receipt of a declaration of love. Not a crush – bloody stupid thing to say. With Val it was easy. He said it first, or he would have if he’d been able to get the words out. After a couple of miserable attempts at it, Val had taken pity on him and said it for him.

But this is different, for more reasons than he can articulate. 

Or is it? His mind flashes back to that moment in the hotel room when James threw the taunt of voluntary redundancy at him. Then the moment when he’d first mentioned Professor Pinnock’s offer. And there’s his own realisation that the most important thing keeping him in Oxford is James.

Choosing his words carefully, he says, “I thought the kisses were just a wind-up. Never occurred to me... If it had, I might’ve reacted differently.”

“I know.” James still isn’t looking at him. “You’d have told me to stop.”

Robbie shifts, turning to face James. “Not what I mean, man. I might’ve done this.”

He leans up and in, bringing his lips to meet James’s, and kisses the lad. Not the way James kissed him before, but the way he might have kissed Laura, if they’d ever got that far and if his feelings for her had been more than long-time friendship: gently, lingering, testing his and James’s responses. 

James is still, almost frozen, and Robbie can’t allow that, can’t let the lad think that he can’t let his feelings show, or that this is some sort of pity kiss. He shifts closer, brings his hand around to the back of James’s head, and parts his lips slightly, seeking a response. 

Abruptly, James gasps and kisses back, clutching Robbie’s shoulders, and heat surges through Robbie, filling his belly and travelling lower, and he hears a sound that he can only describe as a moan, and realises it’s him. He opens his mouth fully, accepting James’s tongue and meeting it with his own.

He breaks the kiss before he turns into a complete Neanderthal and drags James off to his bedroom. Not that the idea’s not appealing – Christ, he can’t believe how much he wants to do it _right now_ – but they’ve got to slow down and talk about this. Well, he has, anyway. It’s all new to him, the idea that he’s in love with and fancies the pants off his sergeant – his _male_ sergeant who’s not that much older than his daughter.

“Robbie,” James murmurs, wonder in his voice as they move back from each other.

He doesn’t answer – can’t find his voice – but reaches for James’s hand instead, wrapping his around it and gripping tightly.

 

***

“I don’t expect anything,” James says a few minutes later. “You don’t have to worry.”

Robbie’s eyes widen. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Robbie.” James’s mouth twists. “That was... breathtaking. And very kind of you. But I know you’re not interested in a relationship with a man, and certainly not with me. You don’t have to fear that I’ll presume on this evening, or even mention it ever again.”

He’s tempted to shake the bloke. But he restrains himself. Instead, he says, “Dumping me already, are you? Thanks a lot.”

James’s brows draw together in confusion. “What?”

“You stupid sod.” Robbie gives him an exasperated look. “Since when d’you think I’d snog someone like that to be _kind_? An’ do you really think I’d do that to _you_ , after everything you’ve done for me? Give me credit – an’ give yourself some too, soft lad.”

He can hear James’s breath catch. “Really?”

Robbie can’t help it; he gives James an exasperated, though fond, sigh. “You’re the one with the bloody First from Cambridge. What d’you think?”

James’s lips twitch faintly in that embarrassed smile of his, and Robbie smothers a grin. “Hmm.” James’s brows draw together. “Well, an analysis of the available evidence does appear to suggest that you may not be averse to further exploration.”

“Give the man a medal,” Robbie mutters. “You bloody well better expect something after this evening. ‘Cause I do.”

“Oh?”

“Well, for a start, I’m not taking early retirement.” _An’ you better not be taking that bloody research job_. But he doesn’t say that; James has to decide that of his own free will.

James frowns. “You’re sure? I know there are very good reasons-”

He’s not going to listen to the lad being self-sacrificing again. “Told you a while back, didn’t I? Between us, we make one not bad detective. Be a shame to destroy that, wouldn’t it? Besides, the kissing’s not bad either. I’d miss that if I moved to Manchester.”

“Manchester isn’t exactly the other side of the world. I could come and see you. Pay you surprise kissing visits.”

Robbie grins. “Not the same,” he says, shaking his head. “Besides, I’d miss working with you too.”

James nods. “Me too. Like I said, I’d go if you went. That means I’m staying if you are.”

“Good.” Robbie realises that he’s still holding James’s hand, so he squeezes it. “Well, since we’re both sticking around, and we both want this, I s’pose we should figure out what happens next.”

James tilts his head to one side. “You do still owe me a date in Newcastle.”

“I do. With an overnight stay, I seem to remember. An’ weren’t you supposed to be looking at hotels? Play your cards right, I might even let you book one room.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” James shifts, frees his hand and reaches to take Robbie’s face between his palms, a glint in his eye as he leans in with serious intent. “And since I now have your explicit permission to do this again...”

“Shut up an’ kiss me, Sergeant,” Robbie growls.

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
